Broken Light
by demondean10
Summary: NOT ATU! After a big fight with the boys about the Memphis concert fiasco, John storms out and ends up being kidnapped. Better than it sounds, I promise.
1. Chapter 1

Paul was sitting in one of the hotel's somewhat comfortable couches, his back hunched, and his gaze focused on his hands. The band had just finished their Memphis concerts, and they were all pretty shaken up. Some psycho had decided to throw a cherry bomb at the stage in the middle of the performance. To them, it had sounded like a gunshot.

Ringo, Paul, and George had immediately looked towards John in fear, just to find the same expression reflected in his face as he looked towards them.

It was not an insane thought, that someone would want to shoot them. For the entirety of the tour the boys had been receiving death threats and hateful messages. The records were burnt, their name cursed, and though the boys put on a brave front for the press they were actually afraid. And today's events had only made it worst. Everyone's mood was down and tempers were high, especially George's.

"You just had to open your mouth, didn't you, Lennon?" He spat at the rhythm guitarist, who was laying in one of the larger couches with his right arm across his eyes and with his left leg folded over his right one in a ridiculous angle.

George was pacing, but he had stopped to glare angrily at his bandmate.

John groaned, "Oh, for Christ's sake, George!" He spoke, "I thought we'd gotten over this." He was right, the boys had talked with each other at the beginning on the tour and agreed that Americans were just crazy and overreacting. John had been very grateful for their support, though he never told them that.

"Well," George answered him, "Clearly those people didn't!" The 'people' being the hecklers at every concert and at every hotel. "What if it had been a gun?" He asked, "A real gun?"

John still didn't move his arm, "It wasn't." He said, flatly.

"But if it had been?" George persisted, he stepped closer to the couch so he could look down at the older man.

"It wasn't." John repeated, a touch of irritation in his voice.

"But-"

"Oh, just shut it already, won't you?" John finally removed his arm and stood up to face his bandmate. His voice was angry, and his fists were clenched.

But George didn't care, "Oh, look who's talking," he continued. "Telling _me_ to shut up."

Ringo spoke up from his own seat on the floor, "He's right, John. I was frightened for me life!"

Paul rolled his eyes, "We all were, Ringo." Thought truly, they had been frightened for John's life more than theirs.

George turned to face the bassist, "Oh, don't you try to defend him!" He snarled, his youthful face painted in a hideous expression.

Paul raised his hands in a placating gesture, "I'm not." He said, not noticing the wounded look sent his way by John. "But, George, we're all tired and we gain nothing by fighting one another."

Ringo looked down in acceptance, but George wasn't finished.

"We gain nothing from him!" He cried and pointed a cruel finger directly at John.

Everyone was silent, waiting for the penny to drop. Even George seemed shocked at his words, but made no move to apologize. A look of hurt briefly took over the man's face, but was quickly replaced by a look of indifference. The mask was on.

"Well," He finally spoke. "If that's how you feel." John walked towards where his coat laid and grabbed his beloved hat from its perch in one of the kitchenette chairs.

Paul moved towards him, "Now, Johnny-"

"Save it, Paul." John said as he opened the door. Then, in a sad whisper, "He's right anyway."

"Where are you going?" Ringo asked him.

John sneered at him, "Out!" He told them, and banged the door closed.

* * *

John noticed the security posted near the elevators. Guess he's have to take the stairs. He didn't really fancy walking down 12 flights of stairs but he's take anything over being in that room. Of course the band gained nothing from him. Shitty voice, shitty guitar playing, not even good at piano, and god knows Paul could write infinitely better than him. Those were insecurities he carried with him everyday, but to hear his friend admit it? George, who used to follow him around in Liverpool because he truly believed that motherless brat John Lennon was a role model, someone worthy of admiration. That George, for him to shove his insecurities right in his face, it hurt. Probably more than a bullet wound would have.

He found the door labeled 'Stairs' and lit up a cigarette as he began his descent, grumbling all the way about ungrateful guitar players and stupid mobs.

He'd barely gone down two flights when he bumped into a man. John had been looking down and hadn't heard anyone approaching. He wasn't wearing his glasses but he could see that the man was dressed in a hotel uniform, and that he was big. About three inches taller than John and well equipped with what could be either muscle or fat.

John stepped to the side, "Sorry." He murmured, only half paying attention, still concerned with what had happened earlier.

But the man stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "No no," he said with a thick southern accent, the kind that was really starting to grate on John's nerves. "It was my fault, anyway." His eyes narrowed on John's figured, "You're one of them, aren't you?"

John sighed, "No."

But the man was persistent, "No, you are! That one from the newspaper the one that says your band is better than Jesus." His tone had changed from casually friendly to hostile.

John was tense as he spoke, "That's not what I said." He started to move past the man, "Now if you'll excuse me-"

The man grabbed his left arm in a tight grip, making John wince.

John glared at him, "Oi! Let go, you-" He struggled.

The man punched him in the face, making his head bang against the wall behind him. John's vision blacked out for a moment and he was left disoriented. His hat fell to the floor.

The man started to drag him down the stairs, and John recovered his senses just in time to cry, "Hel-mhmm!"

The man put his large hand over his mouth and nose and started to squeeze. John struggled but his smaller and tired body was no match for his opponent. Soon he felt himself grow fainter and eventually he knew no more.


	2. Chapter 2

John came into consciousness with a painful headache. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember what had happened. Everything felt like it was moving. Was it a hangover? No, he hadn't left the hotel. Or had he? Yes, he… John suddenly remembered. A man had hit him and then knocked him out at the hotel. Shit.

He snapped his eyes open, only to meet darkness. He was laying on his back, his hands tied in front of him. He was probably stuffed in the boot of a car. His coat was gone as well as his hat, fuck he loved that hat. The darkness soon began to suffocate him, it was a terrible weakness of John's, he was afraid of the dark. Always had been. Since he was a child, and now he was 26 years old and the ridiculous fear still paralyzed him. His breathing became erratic, and he could feel his heartbeat quickening. He started counting from one to ten, like Paul had taught one night when John's defenses had been down. It helped, but only somewhat. He was still stuck in the boot of a car, he'd been kidnapped, and he had no idea where the crazy man was taking him.

He forced his body to move. He raised his tied hands and started to bang against the top with as much strength as he could muster.

"Help!" He screamed, his cried becoming more erratic as time went on, "Let me out! Help!"

* * *

Paul was pacing the length of the room, his tense hands resting firmly at his hips. "John's been gone hours." He said.

George had gone to his room long ago, probably to calm his mood and to prepare an apology for the morning. Ringo had stayed with Paul, only because he could see the bassist was extremely worried. But Ringo figured John was probably out on some American bar, chatting up some bird. He told Paul so.

"Still," He'd be back by now, "It's nearly three in the morning." Certainly they had stayed up later than that, but not outside of the hotel especially during this tour with all the crazy protesters right outside.

Just as Ringo was going to continue his reassurance of his younger friend, Brian Epstein burst into the room with Neil Aspinall on tow.

"Is John here?" He asked them, with a tightly controlled expression.

Paul's brow furrowed in worry, "No." He answered, "Why?"

Before Brian could answer, Ringo spoke, "Is that his cap?" He pointed to the hat Neil was holding in his right arm.

Brian sighed, "Yes. They found it at the service stairs, and his coat was on the parking lot outside."

As he was speaking, George came out of him room with a serious expression. "He could have just dropped them, left them there." But he knew it was a silly notion, he just didn't want to face the guilt of being the person that caused John to leave in the first place.

Paul answered for Brian with a preoccupied scoff, "John wouldn't just drop his hat," He said. "He loves that thing."

There was a tense silence.

Brien eventually took a deep breath and said, "Well, none of you leave this room in case John comes back. Security is searching the area. I'm sure it's all a prank on John's part."

"And if he doesn't come back?" Ringo asked, looking at the manager with dark eyes. They didn't suit his complexion, Ringo was the funny one. Always saw the upside of things, even when Paul couldn't. He wasn't joking right now.

Brian could only look at his remaining three boys and say, "We'll find him." He only hoped he wouldn't fail them again. He couldn't bare to lose John, or any of the boys. But John was special to Brian, he loved him, though not as much as he did when he first met the lad. But there was still some part of Brian's heart that beat for John, and if John didn't come back that part of Brian's heart would stop too.

Paul was not reassured by his manager's words, and it pained him. There was a time Brian could have said anything at all and the boys would have ate it up with no question. But since the Philippines disaster, there was a chuck on trust lost on the band's part. However, Paul knew Brian cared deeply for John, more than he did for the rest of them. And though this usually bothered Paul, it was a good thing in the current situation. Whatever the hell that situation was.

* * *

The car had stopped. John's arms and legs were tired from kicking at the top of the trunk for what felt like hours. He had stopped screaming long ago, because his lungs were getting tired and his throat was hoarse.

Right now, John was waiting for the man to open the boot. He coiled his body, maybe if he kicked the man in the face hard enough he could make a run for it.

As soon as he saw it open, John kicked his legs out. But the man seemed to have anticipated this and he was quick to hold them down using his large hand and forearm. He covered John's mouth with his other hand. He painfully squeezed John's left calf, causing a sharp yelp to escape his muffled mouth. The man then proceeded to hold down his leg's with his own knee and used his now free hand to take out a gun from behind his trousers. John's eyes widened and tried as he might, he could not control his quickening breaths.

"Now, listen boy." The man spoke, his voice rough. "You be quiet now, or I _will_ shoot you, alright?" Though his words were confident, his tone was somewhat nervous.

Not that John registered it. He just nodded rapidly in compliance with the order. Something he's later beat himself up for.

The man dragged his out of his car and John could finally take in his surroundings. They were at a farmhouse of some sort, he couldn't see any other buildings close to where he was but he could see smoke in the distance. Whether from a chimney or just a fire, he could not tell.

The man dragged him to the side of the house where a cellar door was located, he kicked it open and dragged John inside. He seemed anxious, looking around like a madman and his clammy hands were hot on John's clothed arms. John finally noticed the man's mood and got nervous as well. If the man was on edge, who knows what he could do?

The man briefly untied John's hands (With one hand only so he could keep the gun trained on the singer) only to tied them again to a rusty pipe. The he started to take his belt off.

At this John's panic began to escalate and he tried to move away from the man, not that he could much what with him being right next to a wet brick wall.

The man had his belt off and said, "Open."

John frowned at him, "What?"

The large man got closer to him and put the gun under John's chin. "Open your mouth, I said."

John, in a long anticipated move of rebellion, firmly shut his mouth and started to shake his head but the man only forced the belt in and tightly tied it around the singer's head, successfully gagging him.

Then he walked away from John and left the cellar, banging the doors shut behind him.

And John was left in darkness again.


	3. Chapter 3

Daniel McGraham was a God-fearing, honest member of the community. He went to church every Sunday, he prayed everyday. He rejected any kind of modern-thinking, egalitarian nonsense kids preached, and when he's read about one of them BeAtles talking about being better and bigger than Jesus himself, he's been mighty mad. He'd never thought he'd bump into that same damn Beatle himself at the hotel where he did the plumbing. It was just too good an opportunity to pass, his instincts took over his body and just knocked the sinner boy out, took him to his house, and locked him in the cellar.

It was just too good an opportunity to pass, he kept telling himself. But now he had no idea what the heck to do with the boy. So there he was standing in the living room of his friend Thomas' house, explaining his situation to a person he was sure would understand.

"What in the blazes do you mean, you got a Beatle?" Thomas asked.

Daniel shrugged, "I don't know! I just saw him at the hotel, that Lennon one. I figured…" He shrugged again and looked helplessly into his friend's eyes.

"We could teach him a lesson?" Thomas finished for him. It wasn't a bad idea. Those celebrity types, thinking they could just say whatever damn thing the want and not have to face the consequences.

Daniel nodded, "Yeah."

Thomas considered this, "He didn't see your face, right?"

Daniel frowned, "What?" He asked, "Yeah, he did."

Thomas groaned at him, "Oh, damn it Daniel! Now we can't let him go. He'll send the police right after you."

Daniel sat down in one of the lumpy couches, "Damn." He murmured, "So what do we do? I can't exactly kill him." He reasoned.

"Why not?" Thomas was quick to answer.

Daniel startled at the exclamation. "What?"

The other man shrugged, "You kidnapped him. Now you gotta get rid of the evidence. But first…"

Daniel leaned forwards, "Yeah?"

"We could make some money off of him, no?" Thomas smirked, "Plus, the kid still needs to learn his lesson."

Daniel was intrigued, the moral implications of the plan disappearing from his mind. "Ramson?"

Thomas smiled innocently, "I mean, you went through all this trouble."

His friend smile back at him.

* * *

That same morning, the three remaining Beatles were sitting dejectedly around their hotel room, their faces long and pale.

Ringo broke the silence, "John's still not back."

George scoffed at him, "Yes, we can see that, Ringo."

Ringo raised his eyebrows, "I'm just saying." He said.

"Well, stop." George's tone was irate.

Paul groaned, he was too tired for this. "George." He said.

George turned his annoyed eyes to the bassist, "What?" He spat.

Paul looked at him with as gentle expression as he could muster, "I know you feel guilty, Hell we all do-"

"Guilty!?" George stood up, "I don't feel guilty, McCartney. He was the idiot! Running out like that, knowing the dangers." His voice quivered. "He, He's the one. I just…" A sob burst out of him, the first real emotion he'd let out since John had left. "I'm sorry."

Ringo stood up to gather him in his arms.

"I'm so sorry." Even though he was the tallest of the boys, George did really look small at that moment.

Paul joined the hug as well, they all needed it. A few tears left his eyes, as he thought of where John could be or even if he still was.

Ringo was the only one seemingly holding it together and he held the younger lads in his arms and whispered, "It's okay, he'll be okay. We'll okay." He promised.

After a few moments the door opened and Mal Evans walked in, he looked at the boys now kneeling on the floor still in each other's arms and smiled sympathetically.

Paul looked up, "Did they find him?" He asked.

The hope in his voice broke Mal, and he sadly shook his head. "No, I'm sorry." When he saw them looking even worse than they did before he continued, "But they _are_ looking, boys. Brian's on the phone right now, trying to reschedule future concerts."

Paul nodded, he's hardly thought of the few concerts they still had to go. He's thought of the future, of course. If his John didn't come back. His partner. Paul didn't think he's be able to write again if he didn't have John by his side.

"And the police?" Ringo asked, with his arm around George's shoulders.

Mal seemed hesitant, "Well, they say they've got their best people on it but…" He looked down.

George's tone was flat as he said, "They're angry at him too, aren't they? They hate us too?" Of course they did, they were still part of the damn bible belt.

Mal nodded, "It seems that way."

"Can't we hire someone?" Ringo asked, "A private detective?"

Paul put his head on his hands, "Probably expensive."

George's eyes were fiery again, "So?" He cried, "Don't you want John back?"

Paul's head snapped up and George flinched back at the look in the bassist's eyes. They were pained and mad and hurt and irate. "Of course I do, George!" He looked at the guitarist with injured indignation, "But Brian…" The manager was always careful with the money they already had, seeing as the majority of the band's deals were pretty bad financially.

Mal came to the rescue, "Brian will pay what he has to pay to get John back. Don't you worry about that."

Ringo spoke up again, "Has anyone called Cynthia? Or his aunt?"

Mal shook his head, "Brian doesn't think it wise to worry them yet, we don't even have enough information to give them."

Paul narrowed his eyes, but kept quiet. He was tired, but he couldn't go to sleep. Not without knowing where John was.


	4. Chapter 4

John was curled up in the darkness, he could feel it surround him and stifle him. His knees were drawn up to his chest and his head was resting against the brick wall. His jaw ached and, much to his disgust, he could feel drool accumulating in his chin.

Leaving John Lennon alone with his thoughts was never a good idea. He would start to wonder the most ridiculous things. He wondered, had his bandmates noticed he was gone? Or had they just figured he was out in some dingy American bar chatting up some bird? He had no idea what time it was, or how long he had been sitting there. It felt like hours, and the drive had been very long as well. And if had noticed he was missing, did they care? The rational part of his brain told him that 'Yes! Of course they do! They're your best friends!' but John wasn't known for listening to that part of his brain much. George had been attacking him, Ringo was on his side, and Paul had abandoned him. Hell, maybe they were even relieved he was gone. He wouldn't be hard to replace, he was sure. And thought about Brian, he'd always been a arse to Brian. The manager would probably be relieved too, no matter his feelings for him.

He thought about Cynthia. Would she miss him? Their marriage was more often on the rocks than off. And Julian. His son. John never knew how to be with kids, and so his relationship with the kid was strained, weak. John only hoped it wasn't hopeless, like the one he had with his own father. Would Julian remember him? If John never made it out? If so, would he miss him? Who would miss John Lennon? John supposed he wouldn't miss himself, not really.

His eyes started to water against his will, tears had never been for him. He hated the shame they painted his face with. He blinked rapidly in an effort to hold them back but it was fruitless. He felt his cheeks grow wet and the leather of the belt around his mouth dampen.

Just as he continued to wallow in self-pity, the doors burst open. His eyes squinted at the sudden light. He saw his captor walk in followed by a slightly shorter man, but no less big. The new man walked towards him. John wished he could wipe his tears, but alas it was impossible in his condition.

Thomas looked down at the boy, "So this is the famous Beatle? How pathetic." He scoffed, causing John's squint to become an actual glare, though its effect was probably lessened by the state of him.

Thomas looked back at Daniel, "You bring the camera?" He asked.

John's eyes widened, camera? Did they plan to release pictures of him to the press? John could hardly imagine anything more humiliating.

"Yeah." Daniel nodded and held it up. It was a beat up thing, but it would work alright.

John gave a loud muffled noise in protest.

Thomas glared at him, "Oh shut up!" He kicked John in the side, making the rhythm guitarist wince and glare harder. Thomas just looked around the cellar, "Damn." He said, "The light in here is shit." He turned to his friend, "You got a lamp or something?"

Daniel nodded, "Yeah, a flashlight. I'll go get it."

"Leave the gun." Thomas told him.

Daniel did as he was told and the two were left alone. Thomas pointed the firearm at John, causing the singer to tense.

"Now," Said the American, "I'm gonna take the gag out but you're gonna have to be real quiet, get it?" The man did not sound nervous like Daniel had hours ago, and his hands were steady around the gun.

John, anxious to have his mouth free, nodded submissively.

Thomas took the belt out, the leather causing friction against John's skin and making him hiss. He stretched his jaw and swallowed properly a couple times.

Thomas observed him, "So," he started. "You think yourself above Jesus, huh?"

John's voice was hoarse as he spoke, "No! I never said-"

"We all know what you said, boy." Thomas' tone was cold. "Rich people like you, thinking you're better than anyone and everyone else. You don't control your damn mouth, someone will shut it for you."

John shivered at the look in the man's eyes. They were heartless and cruel. He wondered if that's what people saw in his own eyes when he belittled them and mocked them.

"So now," Thomas continued in a casual tone, "You gon' burn for your sins."

John froze. He struggled to speak, "You, you're going to ki-ill me?"

Thomas shrugged, "Yeah." He simply said.

John's breathing got heavy. He could see the man meant it. He couldn't even bother to count numbers to calm himself down as he desperately said, "I, I have money! I'll pay you. My manager, he-"

Thomas interrupted him again, "Yeah we know. That's the plan." He then shook his head, "But you've seen our faces now. It's really Daniel's fault, but oh well." He made a face as if to say 'What can you do?'

"I won't tell!" John cried, his breathing erratic. "I'll keep my mouth shut!"

As he spoke, Daniel came back in with a silver flashlight.

Thomas looked down at the boy, he's moved his legs so he was kneeling on his knees. Oh, the feeling of someone begging for mercy was something he could get used to. "No." He said, "You won't."

John gave an anguished whimper, "Yes." He insisted. "I-please! I have a son, he's just three years old, ple-"

Thomas and Daniel were annoyed, "Okay, shut up now." Daniel demanded and got the belt ready. If there was one thing he hated was seeing men degrade themselves like some weeping woman.

John wailed, "Plea-"

The belt was shoved into his mouth again. He held back his sobs and glared with as much poison as he could muster.

Thomas just scoffed at him and told Daniel to take the picture while he held the torch and pointed it directly at the singer. After the photograph was taken, the two men left again. Not without spitting at the singer once each.

John was left again in darkness. He curled up again. He was going to die. They were going to kill him. Fuck, there was still so much he could do, so much he had to fix! He rested his forehead on his knees as best as he could and let out a painful sob. His body shaked. He was hopeless.


End file.
